


Venus Flytrap

by tacitly



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacitly/pseuds/tacitly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristoph pursues Trucy as revenge against Phoenix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venus Flytrap

**Author's Note:**

> written for the PW kink meme

The first time she meets him, he is Kristoph Gavin--no,  _Mr. Gavin_ : defense attorney. Friend of her father. A new friend, her father says, but his purple-blue suit is almost painfully familiar. "You're probably thinking of his brother," her father tells her, when she mentions it. "Kristoph has been defending me against the allegations of forgery, Trucy. He's a friend."

But for a friend, his visits are rather seldom.  
  
Once every two weeks or so, he knocks on the office door: three sharp knocks in quick succession, a rapid-fire announcement of his arrival. He greets Trucy with a smile and promptly leaves with her father for dinner. Sometimes Phoenix returns from the Borscht Club late, leaving them to chat while Mr. Gavin waits--usually only thirty minutes at most, but sometimes up to an hour. Every time he's left waiting, Mr. Gavin takes the time to paint his neatly-cut nails, using a glass, hand-shaped bottle of clear nail polish.   
  
"I can make that disappear for you," Trucy tells him, one day.   
  
He chuckles, pushing his glasses up his nose. "That would be most inconvenient."   
  
An awkward silence falls on the office, and she resigns herself to simply watching him paint his nails again. Mr. Gavin is a vain man, her father tells her--a genius too concerned with his appearance. She had never understood before, had never noticed how perfect and tightly-bound his hair was, how starch straight his suit was. But now, under the gaudy office lights, his every vanity-inspired detail makes him all the more handsome.   
  
Mr. Gavin looks up. "I could paint your nails, if you'd like," he offers with a slight smile.   
  
She nods mutely, and he moves from the sofa opposite her to sit next to her. He presents his hand, palm up, and tells her "hold out your hand." When she places her hand in his, he laughs. "I hope you're not expecting me to paint over your glove?"  
  
Grasping her wrist slightly with one hand, he pulls her glove off with his other, slowly tugging it off of her fingers. He turns her hand over palm-down to grace it with a chaste kiss, his lips impossibly smooth against her skin. The contact is as light as a stray hair brushing against her cheek.   
  
The office door swings open, suddenly. "Kristoph, I'm rea--"  
  
Phoenix stops mid-sentence, hand still on the doorknob, knuckles white as he grips it forcefully. His wide eyes narrow just slightly, looking not at Trucy, or at Trucy-and-Mr. Gavin, but just at Mr. Gavin--Mr. Gavin and his lips. A soft noise interrupts the heavy silence as Mr. Gavin breaks his lips away from her hand and drops it. He turns to Phoenix, smiling, and readjusts his glasses as Trucy's hand falls.   
  
And it shouldn't be so quiet, she thinks--there shouldn't be so much tension. It was just a kiss on the hand, he was just going to paint her nails, and... it's  _Mr. Gavin_. It's just a family friend.   
  
"I'm ready," Phoenix repeats, curtly, "Let's go."   
  
It takes her years to understand the vitriol in his tone.  
  
  
*  
  
  
In her head, he is simply  _Kristoph_  now. But to her father and to the man's face, he is still "Mr. Gavin." He visits more frequently than before, and recently, the atmosphere seems to be less pleasant when he's with her father. There's a growing tension between them that she's only just noticed this year, though she imagines it must have been there since far before she noticed.   
  
They've stopped going out to dinner every two weeks now that her father has given up on regaining his former status as a lawyer. He's resigned himself to being a piano player, and not a very good one at that. But she's glad he's moved on. Money isn't as present as it used to be, but he's more relaxed now, and that's all she could really ask for, really.   
  
Instead of going out to dinner, Kristoph now often stays in the office to talk. They close the door and her father tells her, "why don't you practice a new trick to show Kristoph when we're done?"   
  
But she's fourteen, now, and it's been long enough that she's been kept in the dark about their conversations. Her father talks to her as if she's an adult when it comes to court, tells her about his days as a lawyer and doesn't leave out all the technical aspects and the gruesome details. But when she asks "what do you and Mr. Gavin talk about?" The only answer she gets is: "life."

Sometimes, while they wait for her father to come back from work, Kristoph will tell her things she's already heard snippets of from the other side of the door. "I've taken in a new apprentice recently," he tells her, "Apollo Justice. He's a very  _capable_  young man. There is much he must be taught, however."   
  
"You should introduce him to us," she says, trying to hide her excitement. Kristoph isn't reserved by any means, but there's a strange sort of restraint in every one of his words. She finds herself trying to conform to his tones subconsciously so as not to embarrass herself. He is only ever complacent or, at most, amused--never angry or impatient or even pleased. His words are bare, the slightest hint of his world--his thoughts--and nothing more. Kristoph's description of his apprentice is irritatingly lacking in detail, but she's heard more about him from the man's conversations with her father. Her father had tried asking to meet him as well, but Kristoph evaded the request. Maybe if she asked, he would give it a little more thought.  
  
Kristoph laughs quietly. "I'll see if I can arrange that." He doesn't sound very sincere, but she certainly isn't about to push him. He's a kind man, but he's also very stubborn. If he's not going to make any promises, then it isn't going to happen.   
  
"Actually..." He says, thoughtfully, "He reminds me of your father a good deal. Justice has the same diligence, and he's just as stubborn as Wright was as a lawyer..." Kristoph stops himself, suddenly, just on the verge of trailing on. It's unusual for him to not finish a sentence. His speech is always precisely measured with the kind of clarity usually only present in written word. A faint smile crosses his face, and Trucy isn't quite sure whether it's because he's amused at his error or because of what he hasn't said. It's an unusual smile-- almost a smirk.   
  
"Mr. Gavin?"  
  
His odd smile straightens into his normal, composed one. "I apologize. I hadn't meant to go on like that."   
  
His strange musings almost convince her that he might have a change of heart about introducing Apollo. But he doesn't bring his new apprentice with him to introduce to her next week, or the next, or the next. Eventually, she gives up on waiting.   
  
  
  
*  
  
  
For the first time, she's been invited to dinner with Kristoph and her father. "I'm a little caught up with work right now, so I don't have time to call Kristoph too--you wouldn't mind calling him and inviting him yourself, right?" Her father asks over the phone. The faint sound of piano plays in the background, drowning out muffled voices.   
  
She agrees to call him, trying to hide her excitement. Despite never having any need to call him before, or ever having talked to him on the phone, Kristoph had insisted that she program his number into her cell "in case of an emergency." For once, it would be useful.  
  
She has to actively keep from holding her breath as the phone rings. "Hello?" He says curtly. She starts to feel even more nervous.  
  
"Hi, Mr. Gavin, Daddy and I were wondering--"  
  
"I think you're old enough now for 'Kristoph' to suffice," he interrupts, gently, "You're fifteen, now, correct?"  
  
"Fourteen," she corrects. She can't help feeling a little flattered that he would mistake her for being a year older. Usually--probably because of her attire--people assumed she was younger than she was: thirteen, twelve, even eleven. "Well...  _Kristoph_... we were wondering," she smiles slightly as she continues, carrying on from when she was interrupted, "if you'd like to go out to dinner with us tonight?"  
  
A slight static noise sounds through the phone, like a distorted recording of papers being scattered. "Justice, would you please... no, not..." His voice is distant, as if he's holding the phone away. "I'm sorry, Trucy," he chuckles, his voice suddenly clear again, "Yes, I would love to go out with you to dinner." The way he says it almost makes it seem as though he's just going to dinner with  _her_. "I'm assuming we're dining at the Borscht Club, but did your father specify a time?"   
  
"Seven, if that works for you," she tells him--a statement, rather than a question. She knows it will work for him; he'll  _make_  it work. He always accommodates her father's schedule.

He assures her that seven will work and they say their "see you soon"s and "goodbye"s. Trucy waits for the hour hand of the office clock to move from six to six fifty impatiently, worrying all the while about "what if I show up too early and look desperate?" and "what if I underestimate the time it takes to walk there and show up late?" In the end, she heads out at six forty-five, figuring that's a happy medium.  
  
The restaurant has a cheap little clock by the bar, with its plastic white rim and its shiny fake-glass cover, tick ticking in silence as someone much better than Phoenix plays the piano. Six fifty-five, it reads. Trucy is slightly alarmed at how long it takes her to interpret the time, translating the pointed arrows into numbers in her mind. Six fifty-five. Five minutes early.   
  
Phoenix is waiting at a table when she gets there, holding a menu in one hand and waving with another. There's a glass of grape juice on the table already, half-empty. Kristoph isn't there yet.   
  
"Hey, Daddy!" Trucy exclaims, smiling as she takes a seat across from him. He looks almost nervous as she sits down, as if he was expecting her to take the seat next to him instead. But he says nothing of it.   
  
He quickly hides his anxiety and smiles. "Hey, Trucy. Did you call Kristoph?"  
  
"She did," a voice says quietly from behind them. Phoenix jumps slightly, and they turn around to see Kristoph standing tall above them. Trucy suddenly understands why her father usually insists on having the seat closest to the wall.   
  
Kristoph chuckles. "I apologize," he says, covering his smile lightly with his hand, "I hadn't intended to startle you." He takes the seat next to Phoenix and casts a curious glance at the piano player in the corner. "I'm a little surprised you're still in business, Wright," he comments jokingly. Phoenix laughs.   
  
A short waitress with a thick Russian accent takes their order promptly, before Trucy even has time to look at the menu. Phoenix orders for all of them: three Borscht bowls.  
  
The two men immediately begin discussing business--what's been going on in court, who's in what country, how is Kristoph's apprentice... Trucy hears an occasional familiar name. "Miles Edgeworth? Ah, yes, I believe he's taken another short trip to Germany," Kristoph tells her father, looking almost amused. She's heard about Edgeworth before. Her father spoke of him frequently when she was younger, but recently the man comes up in conversation somewhat rarely, and only with regard to his current location.   
  
Kristoph updates her father on his apprentice, as well. "Justice has been holding up quite well. However, he seems to have picked up an odd habit as of late. He's been...  _screeching_... in the office recently, when he thinks I've gone out to lunch. Something about his 'chords of steel,' if my memory serves." Her father listens to his descriptions almost as intently as he listened to Kristoph's account of Edgeworth's location. It's interesting to hear about Kristoph's apprentice, but her father seems almost abnormally interested--as if he's being told about progress in a recent investment.  
  
Then the conversation quickly switches to focus on her, suddenly: "I apologize, Miss Trucy. I believe we've been leaving you out of the conversation," Kristoph says, "How has your magic been coming along?"   
  
"Well, I have a job now," she offers, unable to keep back her proud smile. Phoenix brings his napkin to his mouth to wipe off a bit of borscht. "I was offered a job performing at the Wunderbar. You should come see my show some time, Kristoph."   
  
Phoenix freezes. It's only for a split second that her eyes fall on him, and only for a split second that he shows any reaction, but she sees it. His hand clenches, fingernails biting into the cheap fabric of the napkin as he leaves it there for just a second longer than necessary, unmoving. And suddenly she feels guilty.

She was given permission to call Mr. Gavin "Kristoph." He had all but chided her for referring to him so formally earlier. But her father had not been there to hear it, and he certainly didn't seem to find it as appropriate as Kristoph did. She wondered, silently, if perhaps it wasn't appropriate after all--or if there was something more to her father's reaction.   
  
Phoenix regained composure almost instantly, however, removing the napkin and smiling brazenly. "You know, I don't think  _I've_  even been able to see your show yet, Trucy. You've never even invited me," he teases, feigning a hurt tone. When Trucy turns to look at Kristoph, he's studying Phoenix intently. His usual smile is not quite as wide, as if he's forgotten, unconsciously letting his lips fall just slightly.   
  
It's his  _smile_  that's off, but it's his eyes that make her nervous.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
She isn't invited to the next dinner. So she invites herself.   
  
Phoenix is noticeably reluctant, but Kristoph persuades him to let her come. "You weren't planning on inviting her?" He asks, surprised. "I think it would be rather rude not to, Wright. After all, the last dinner was very pleasant. If you have matters you would prefer to discuss with me in private, then we may discuss them in your office at a later time."   
  
Kristoph even offers to treat them both to dinner--"if this is about your wages." And while Trucy suspects it has nothing to do with her father's income, Phoenix actually accepts the offer. Any opportunity to save a little money is always welcome, she figures.   
  
Since Kristoph is treating them, he insists on going somewhere "a little different," which she takes to mean  _"nicer."_ The restaurant isn't with in walking distance, however, and since her father can't drive, Kristoph even offers to drive them both there. "It's no trouble, really," he insists.   
  
In the end, Phoenix isn't even able to go. The Borscht Club owner is growing increasingly irritated with his absences, and Phoenix is informed last-minute that he has to work an extra night, covering for his ill coworker. He almost tells Trucy she can't go, starts to say, "I think it might be better if we did this another night," --but stops at "might be" as Kristoph raps his knuckles on the door lightly.   
  
Kristoph expresses sympathy at her father's extra hours, but seems nonetheless ready to go to dinner with Trucy. So Phoenix bids them a hesitant farewell.   
  
The restaurant is more than a little nicer than the Borscht Club. The floor is carpeted in red, and a crystal chandelier hangs from the middle of the main dining area. As the waiter leads them to a small table in the corner, Trucy begins to feel glad she wore a dress instead of her usual magician's attire.   
  
"You look lovely tonight," Kristoph says cordially as they sit down.   
  
She thanks him, and for a long time they sit in silence as she begs her heart to slow down. Eventually, Kristoph breaks the silence. After a large amount of small talk, they move on to talking about Kristoph's apprentice--that seems to be all he talks about with her recently, but she's always interested--and then his brother.  
  
"I didn't know you had a brother," she muses, surprised.   
  
Kristoph laughs quietly. "I'm surprised I haven't mentioned him before," he says.  
  
"Tell me about him."  
  
The waiter interrupts them for a moment, apologizing for his intrusion and asking what they'd like to drink. Kristoph pauses for a second before ordering two glasses of Chardonnay. The waiter hesitates to affirm his order, looking conflicted for a brief minute, but then replies, "Two glasses of Chardonnay. Right away, sir."

Her chest feels tight with panic. Should she say something? Had he forgotten she was only fourteen? He must have, surely, but... Last time he had confused her for fifteen, not  _twenty-one_.   
  
No, he's giving her a chance to be an adult. He's treating her like an equal, not like some kid, some little girl. Not like how her father treats her.   
  
"So... your brother...?" She prompts him, reminding him of their previous conversation. She decides to say nothing of the wine.  
  
"Ah, yes. My little brother Klavier is, ironically, a prosecutor," he tells her. He goes on about Klavier, about his "silly band" and his "propensity for acting foolishly in court," and she listens, enthralled. Her mind is taken away from the wine situation so completely that when the waiter returns, setting down two glasses and pouring rather expensive-looking wine into them, she doesn't hesitate to immediately pick her glass up and take a sip.   
  
She's almost surprised that she doesn't feel even slightly tipsy after two glasses. Her father had always convinced her that even one would turn her into a roaring drunkard. Instead, she just feels slightly red in the face.   
  
When they finish dinner, they wait outside for the valet to bring Kristoph's car around. "Thank you for joining me for dinner. I had a lovely night," Kristoph says. He places his hand on her cheek, caressing it slightly, and slides it down to grab her chin lightly. Before she has time to think, his face is just inches from her's, and suddenly his lips are brushing against her own. Her eyes are wide open as they kiss, and his lips are gentle, soft--not like how she'd imagined a man's lips would be.   
  
He pulls away in a second, just in time for the valet to drive his car up.   
  
  
*  
  
  
  
"How was dinner?" Her father asks.  
  
"Great," Trucy says. She tells him about the restaurant, about the fancy waiters and the red carpet floor. She doesn't tell him about the wine--or the kiss.   
  
"Listen, Trucy," he says, seriously, "I want you to be careful around Kristoph." He picks his words carefully, speaking slowly as he looks at her straight in the eyes. "I trust--...he's my friend, of course, but you should always be careful of everyone--Kristoph is no exception."   
  
He doesn't know. Her face may be red, still, but he would never guess, not from that alone. She's certain of it.    
  
There's something about the way he warns her. What did he say? That he trusted Kristoph...? No, that's not it. He said Kristoph was his  _friend._  There shouldn't have been, but there was clearly a difference.   
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Whenever she or Kristoph suggest dinner, they're shot done almost instantly. "Sorry, no can do. Boss's getting annoyed that I've missed so much work," Phoenix tells them.  
  
So Kristoph is back to only coming to the office to talk to Phoenix, waiting for him to get off of work. But despite her father's claim that he can't miss his work, he seems to be coming back to the office fairly early, leaving Kristoph waiting for no more than five minutes.   
  
One Wednesday, however, he isn't able to come home so early. "I'll be a little late from work," he tells Trucy, sounding noticeably distressed, "Tell Kristoph I'm sorry. I should be at the office around eight."   
  
Kristoph simply smiles at the news, telling her it's no problem. "How about I paint your nails?" He says, "Come sit over here."

Trucy moves to sit on the couch next to him. Just as she's about to sit down, he grabs her wrist. "It might be easier if you were to sit here," he suggests, placing a hand on his thigh, "I find it easier to paint nails from my own perspective." She sits on his lap hesitantly, wondering silently to herself how many people's nails he's painted like this.   
  
She wobbles slightly on his legs, self-consciously wondering if she's too heavy. "I'm not too heavy, I hope," she laughs. Kristoph simply chuckles and tells her she's light as a feather.  
  
"Now," he says, "give me your right hand..." She offers up her hand, squirming slightly as he shifts his legs. He takes her hand and begins to paint it with the same clear nail polish as before, from years ago. "Your hands are beautiful," he whispers, his breath hot against her neck. He kisses her collarbone lightly as she wonders if he's even the slightest bit concerned that her father might find them like this.  
  
She can't help wondering if, just maybe, that's exactly what he wants.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
The last time she sees him, he is Kristoph Gavin: former defense attorney. Murderer.   
  
He's in the papers, with a picture of his unsmiling face. She realizes, with a strange feeling, that she's never seen him with anything close to the expression he has in his mug shot. Her father won't talk about it-- won't talk about Kristoph or the murder or how he was framed. But he can't keep her from reading the paper.   
  
She finally gets to meet Apollo Justice. Phoenix has decided to take him under his wing since the poor boy is out of work, and he's been helping around at the office as he waits for clients to show. He's everything Kristoph said he was. Trucy can't help laughing a little as she slowly notices all of the little quirks that Kristoph has told her about: the "I'm fine!"s and the "chords of steel."   
  
For a long time, neither her father nor Apollo talk about Kristoph. His name is only a sore subject for the both of them. But, one day, when Phoenix is working at the Borscht Club and Apollo is cleaning up the office, the new apprentice says, "I used to work at another law firm, before my first case... I guess you knew that though, huh?"

His voice is quiet. He seems unsure of whether he wants to continue, but picks up again after a short pause. "Well... you remember the Misham case? Mr. Gav-- the murder? I'm sure I've mentioned him."

 

Another pause. Longer, this time. "I trusted him. He was a great mentor, despite it all."

  
And Trucy says, "tell me about him."


End file.
